The Interplanetary Zombie Defense Guide
by ally ally oxenfree
Summary: There's nothing like the undead to bring a couple together...Established K&S, progresses to K/S. Rated for language and ZOMBIE VIOLENCE.
1. Save Your Ammunition

**The Interplanetary Guide to Defending Yourself Against Zombies and First Officers**

Chapter One: Save Your Ammunition

As Kirk swung the steel-capped cane _straight through_ the reanimated alien mayor of Rupert III's head and watched the body collapse, he turned to his first officer with a most serious expression. "_That_ is why I like canes. And that's why carrying one around- even if my legs are _perfectly strong_, thank you- is _logical_."

Of course the Vulcanoid gave Jim a look that said "Why now? We're all being attacked by hoards of vicious undead." Or something to that effect. What he actually said was "I do not understand your reluctance to use a hand-phaser, Captain."

"What if I, you know, need it _later_?" Again the muffled sound of the cane crushing bone and decidedly dead flesh filled the air, and the captain laughed. "'sides, it's fun."

Spock took aim and fired a short blast of phaser fire at the skull of a man who had evidently once been a police officer, judging by his navy uniform, now tattered and rather dusty. "Fun, Captain?"

"Come on, don't tell me you've never wanted to hunt zombies. Have you never played a holo-game?" Kirk lashed out with the cane again. "Double-strike! Fuck yes! Can't touch this, you undead bastards!"

"The only simulations in which I have ever engaged were for the purposes of education, Captain. My only contact with the intersection of the entertainment industry and the human fascination with the 'undead' has been the Terran novel 'I Am Legend', a novel in which the 'undead' are sentient and, in many ways, more evolved than the human protagonist. Have you had any contact with Dr. McCoy, Ensign Sulu or Ensign Vermillion?"

"Negative, Mister Spock. Once we catch a break I'll drop them a line...uh, that means I'll call 'em up. Can you pick locks or at least try and open up that door over there? It might keep 'em at bay for awhile. How were they superior to humans, anyways? They were dead, right?"

"Affirmative, Captain, although in this instance I would much prefer that you utilize your hand-phaser seeing as I will be unable to back you up should your inclinations to use physical force be insufficient to subdue our pursuers."

"Naturally, Mister Spock. Couldn't have you getting hurt."

There was something not unlike a smile threatening to betray itself in the first officer's eyes. "It is hard to explain, Captain, but the 'zombies' had a sort of collective consciousness, or hive mind, so to speak. They were connected in a way that may be hard for humans to understand, but--" There was a sudden 'chink' as the doors gave way, and Spock dusted off his hands on the front of his uniform. "I have unlocked the doors, Captain."

"Excellent, Mister Spock."

The two immediately shoved the heavy wooden doors closed behind them. As Kirk kept the dozen or so of the...things outside from heavy-handing the door open, Spock, with his inhuman strength, barricaded the doors with a refrigerator unit located nearby and positioned it so as to hold the doors closed.

"Like bonded Vulcans," Spock finished.

"Can a Vulcan and a human not bond?" Jim looked around, guardedly gripping his cane like a sword. His knuckles were white as bone even under the blood and dirt. "This is, like, a grocery store, I think."

"My parents were obviously able to bond, as mentally, they were most compatible. I will not be able to bond with a human unless the human and I are most well-suited to each other. It would be easier were I a full-blooded Vulcan. However, given the...endangered nature of my species, it is unlikely that there will be a Vulcan willing to bond with a half-human. It does appear to contain much food, Captain." He frowned just barely as he pulled his tricorder out of a bag at his side. "According to my readings, there are fourteen enemies at the door and one located inside of this building."

"Dr. McCoy, do you read me?" Kirk opened a bag of chips with his free hand.

"Affirmative. Jim, Ensign Vermillion has been killed and we are in a bad position. But-- shit--" There was a silent moment, but then the comm crackled again. "Sulu's good at this, goddamn. Not useless like some people. Anyways, Scotty says he'll be able to beam us up in ten minutes, so we'll make it- you're still in range of whatever it is that's fucking with the transporter, but it's starting to clear up according to him."

"Excellent. Stay safe. Kirk out." The captain then frowned. "Wait, one in this building?"

Spock had started to rummage through the glass containers against the wall and pulled out a bottle of something-or-other. "Affirmative, Captain."

"Weird." He raised his voice. "Zombie cleanup on aisle two! Come get your head smashed in, you creepy sonuva-"

"It's moving, Captain. Please stay aware."

"Oh, hey! They have energy drinks!" Spock fired his phaser once, aiming behind the captain, and there was the now-familiar sound of a body hitting the floor. "That's interesting, though. Do they not want, like, the bloodline messed up?"

The Vulcanoid managed to sit down and lean against a magazine rack whilst still looking dignified. His look was almost contemplative, and he gave Kirk an oddly direct glance, then returned to his typical lack-of-expression-expression. "It's not so much that as that I am likely to be infertile, given that I _am_ a hybrid. Although it was also thought improbable I would survive the gestation period, so it may very well be that there are simply things yet to be discovered about human-Vulcan hybrids."

"You can be tested for that, though, right?" Kirk slumped beside his first officer audibly with his drink and bag of chips, the latter of which he offered to Spock.

Again, Spock managed the impossible. He ate the excessively salty junk food _gracefully_. Kirk had to look away as his science officer sucked the flavoring off of his fingers. "Theoretically, yes. However, I have yet to have done so, although at some point I must. I acknowledge that."

"What's stopped you in the past?"

"I regret to say that I have experienced mild anxiety regarding the potential results of such a test. If I am capable of producing children, I would be expected to take a mate and raise the child on New Vulcan. I could not reason myself out of such an action- that which I owe my species is too significant of a burden to ignore. I believe myself, however, to be most effectively utilized within the context of this outfit, and would not be able to work productively on New Vulcan. Yet if it is revealed that I am in fact infertile, there will be truly nothing I can do for my species. It is as close to an emotional dilemma as I have ever experienced, and therefore I have found myself frozen in indecision."

Kirk was silent for a moment and his first officer cast him a sideways glance. The blue-white neon light of the displays gave the captain a corpse-like appearance. The blunt sound of something throwing itself against the doors made them both start.

"That sucks, I guess." Jim's gaze now lingered on the doorway. "But I'm _sure_ I could pull some strings and get you a laboratory there if you have to go to New Vulcan and stay there. And there's tons you can do for New Vulcan- on the Enterprise, you're practically already an Ambassador. Every single government or people we come in contact with gets a positive impression of the Vulcans, which will pay off in terms of your people gaining allies. It's never been so important for them to be supported as it is now, I'm sure you know that."

He turned to Spock only to see the Vulcan looking at him with a strange play of emotions- well, hints of emotions- flickering across his face like static electricity. Finally self-control seemed to win out and with a voice seeped in gratitude, the Vulcan said, "Thank you, Jim."

The human grinned widely and then leaned back against the magazine rack, sighing. "I'm fucking tired, man."

"Understandable. We have been on this planet for six hours and fleeing for the majority of that time. It would be advisable for you to attempt to rest. I would not be opposed to guarding the various points of entrance. I will, naturally, awake you should a situation arise."

"Thanks, Spock. Here's the communicator- and, oh, my phaser. I'd appreciate it if you'd check up on Bones in a few- I'll try and sleep." Kirk fumbled awkwardly for the gun at his waist before handing it over to his companion.

Not but a few minutes later the young man was sprawled out in between two aisles of garishly colored junk food, his cane held loosely in one hand, and, having escaped the neon lights, his skin was warm and bruised in the dark. The Vulcan had to tear his gaze away as his captain slept.


	2. Keep Moving

**The Interplanetary Guide to Defending Yourself Against Zombies and First Officers**

Chapter Two: Keep Moving

"Captain. Captain, please wake up. Captain."

"Shit. Shit, I'm awake, what's up?" The captain flinched awake, starting and blinking into the neon, his voice ragged. Spock offered him a hand up. He took it.

"We have approximately fifteen minutes until our pursuers break through the barricade. Doctor McCoy and Mister Sulu have safely been beamed aboard the Enterprise. Whatever disruptive phenomenon that has been affecting this area has begun to dissipate. Mister Scott estimates about thirty minutes until we can beam back aboard the ship."

Kirk was still holding onto the cane with one hand. He'd been leaning on it as he listened to his science officer, his shoulders tense. "I assume there's nothing else," he said, straightening and gesturing towards the door, "else to barricade the door with."

"Affirmative, captain. Most of these stands are bolted to the ground, and were we to detach them, they are mostly made of the weaker metals. They would serve little purpose."

"...you ever heard of a Molotov cocktail?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I will search for some incendiary device, Captain."

"_Ex_cellent," Jim drawled, backing towards the beverage display case with a grin. He pulled out as many bottles of brightly coloured, presumably alcoholic drinks as he could carry- he got six or seven of them in his arms before being unable to carry them without using both hands and tucking the cane under his arm. Bringing them over to the counter, where Spock was tearing open a package of analog lighters with his "scientific" expression on, he sighed. He looked at the digital clock on the wall- twenty seven minutes left.

The Vulcan began opening the bottles as the captain took off his shirt- every strip of fabric that he tore apart, he handed to his first officer, who wedged them into the openings of the bottles and soaking them in the liquid. At twenty five minutes Kirk had brought over another armful of the bottles and ran out of shirt pieces; he began rummaging through the store rather aimlessly.

Spock waited. He sat on the counter, trying to suppress the urge to swing his legs back and foth.

"Kirk, this is McCoy, do you read me?"

"Doctor. This is Commander Spock. The captain and I have been trapped inside a commercial building. IN four minutes nineteen second the doors will give way. We have improvised a quantity of rudimentary explosives and also have in possession two hand phasers, one of which is fully charged, the other of which has been nearly drained. Have you found out anything about the planet or what has befallen its inhabitants?"

"I've traced the affliction to a virus- surprise- transmitted by bodily fluids. Jim would have to get treatment within ten minutes to avoid death; the disease would almost definitely affect you much more quickly. It spreads remarkably quickly through the body but I think I've got a medicine which would keep the thing at bay long enough for the immune system to get a chance to kill it. But listen to me, Spock. You've _got_ to be careful."

"Thank you doctor. Spock out." His tone was decidedly professional.

"McCoy out."

There was silence for a moment.

"What was that?"

Kirk lived to shatter silences.

Spock nearly jumped. "A report from Doctor McCoy, captain," he said.

"I know that." He raised his eyebrows. "What was that business about you being more affected by this thing than me?"

"...exactly that." He sounded almost strained. "Captain."

"...you weren't going to tell me, were you."

Spock didn't respond.

Kirk sighed.

There was silence.

"We've got like three minutes left."

Spock, again, did not respond, instead grabbing one of the lighters and handing the other to Kirk.

-=-=-

As the door caved in and the refrigerator unit fell, both Kirk and Spock threw their explosives at the once-humanoids stumbling through the door. Once, twice and again, Jim looking grim, Spock, blank. When the first wave of heat died down and there was nothing moving anymore, just fire in the doorway, Jim picked up the cane from the counter.

"Tricorder readings, Mister Spock?"

"There are at least forty more of them headed in this direction, Captain. They seem to be attracted by noise."

"Would it be worth overloading the mostly-empty phaser and leaving it as a distraction? We can't fight off forty of those fuckers." Jim was prodding the smoldering bodies with his cane.

"It might, Captain. Would you like me to initiate overload?"

"Yes please." Kirk was beginning to chew on the inside of his mouth and the coppery taste nearly drowned out the stench of burned flesh. He let himself watch Spock work with the hand phaser, the contours of his friend's face in sharp relief as the gun glowed. The Vulcan's eyes were hollow, his cheekbones sharp and the line of his jaw running up to the tip of his ear-

"Ready, Captain." Their eyes met for a moment and Kirk nodded. Spock placed the phaser on the chest of one of the corpses and they ran.

o0o0o

Ten minutes later.

"I'm sorry, Spock."

"Why, Captain? I do not understand. It was not your fault. There was no way you could have know of this building's secondary inhabitants. It appears that it is made of a material that dampens its life form readings."

The two were on the balcony of an apartment building and Spock sounded completely self-assured. Kirk's knuckles were white from his grip on the phaser. "Not for that," he said, "but for what I'm about to do." He pressed his finger to the trigger lightly, as if testing it, then suddenly swung it about to Spock's stomach. Even as Spock was pushing him away, he fired. "That was the last of the charge in the thing," he murmured. "Not enough to knock you out, I'm afraid, but to keep you from moving, I hope. Let me help you-"

The Vulcan's eyes were dark with anger and something else- betrayal? Kirk picked himself up from the ground and wrapped his arm around the waist of his first officer- who had collapsed against the wall- and eased him to the ground.

"When Scotty beams you up, get him to label this planet as extremely dangerous. Send a report to Star Fleet including Doctor McCoy's analysis on the virus. Ensign Nemo should be registered as having been killed in action." Jim straightened, picking up the damn cane from where it was leaning against the glass doors. He cast a glance at the tricorder at his feet- "They're almost here, I gotta go. Take...take care of yourself, Spock. And I know you've got feelings. Even if you don't show it. The human sighed, then lifted up his right hand. His voice cracked as he said, "Live long and prosper."


	3. Don't Give Up

For a moment, only his pulse marked the passage of time. Like war drums, he heard his arteries frantically seize up as Jim Kirk opened the glass door, sliding into the apartment with his cane held in front of his human body like a shield.

Spock was veritably enraged. He was also definitely paralyzed.

The thought that had him in its throes was the understandable aim of rescuing the captain, yet the unpredicted aspect of this was his own determination. Spock was almost surprised by himself before acknowledging that this was not, in fact, the greatest priority at the moment and he shouldn't dwell on trying to reason away whatever emotions had been crawling at his skin.

The sound of wood splintering startled him, and he felt his shoulders roll involuntary- he could move his neck as well, and stretched his range of movement as far as he could... The noise had not started the captain, who had begun to throw dinner knives at the dozen or so creatures struggling through the door, crushing their own numbers to the ground.

"Kre'nah," he hissed, letting his native language take him over for just a moment. The battle-drum-pulse in his ears was incessant.

There was a wooden dining table that Kirk shoved into the doorway, only stopping to stomp on the skull of some creature crawling under it before diving for the china. Even as the diseased humanoids stumbled forwards into the captain's barricade, he used anything within reach as projectile weapons.

Spock's shadow draped into the battle because the damned sun was setting, and Kirk danced in and out of it with bleeding hands.

His culture had long regarded emotion as a weakness. It would lead one into circular logic, delusion- into avoiding the truth of the matter out of selfish desire. The philosophy he had grown with defined want as the origin of pain, and pain as the origin of war, pain as the origin of delayed evolution, social backwardsness, failure. But here, as the Vulcanoid felt _want_ and _anger_ straight up his spine, he didn't really care. Here, the emotion- what he knew to be a complex play of chemicals, neurotransmitters, chemicals such as serotonin, adrenaline, making a careful cocktail designed by evolution to spur action- worked with him as he flexed his finger tips. Hell if something simple as temporary nerve damage would hold him back, he was intoxicated.

He would later conclude it the logical thing to do.

Spock shifted his weight as best he could, feeling his legs losing circulation. He could do this, he could do this- he rolled his shoulders back as Jim decapitated something with a picture frame. He could move his fingertips, he could look from side to side, if just Jim could hold out for a minute or two longer, please, that would be most satisfactory...perfect, in fact, he thought with a heady rush of blood to his head, pulling himself up on the railing of the balcony, the ground hundreds of feet beneath him-

Nearly falling, he watched. The captain had taken to simply removing the things from their bodies with heavy swings from the cane, now soaked in blood, as the room had filled up, and then throwing chairs around. Nearly passing out, Spock tried to stand.

Most of them had been human before being infected. It was hard for Spock to see the resemblance in the creature who had taken it upon itself to sink it's teeth into Jim's forearm as he busied himself killing the mutants. It was hard for Spock to not cry out when Jim ignored the thing and threw himself into the hoard, through the doorway, into the hallway.

Instead of vocalizing his anger, he crushed the metal underneath his hands and pitched himself forwards onto his feet. And fell straight through the sliding glass door, vaguely feeling pain somewhere past the haze of neurochemical reactions making his pulse skyrocket.

The ceiling was speckled with blood and the carpet smelled strongly of disinfectant.

He wrapped one hand around a shard of glass, letting it sink into his flesh, watching his blood flow in rivets over the the contours of his fingers, not feeling anything. Not until Jim let out a string of foreign obscenities. Then he felt again.

He felt again.

Spock was on his feet all of the sudden, searching the room for something to use as a weapon before settling on the broken leg of a table, and then he was throwing himself through the doorway. Because there was his captain, prone on the floor, body crushed beneath a corpse and creatures about to tear him to pieces.

This would not happen. They would not kill him. It was because the Vulcanoid found himself crouched over the body of his captain and friend with the remnants of whatever had been between him and his current ward prior to that instance; red and salty and _bloody_ was his body but it hardly mattered, now, did it? Because there was a human body to protect, to get away from this place. He fought as if more than two lives were on the line and when they had all stilled, he picked up the captain.

The captain with his bloodless face.

He backed through the hallway back into the now-trashed apartment as the sound of creatures like scavenging rats grew louder. Where to go, he wondered briefly, to stay safe for a few minutes longer? This is the top floor, there is nowhere higher else to go...

He stood limply on balcony with a blank expression and something corpselike in his arms.

There was a storehouse, warehouse- just ten feet away. It seemed he could reach out and touch it, but even on the best of days, he didn't know if he could jump it... There was moaning in the hallway and, suddenly, he had no choice.

It was no hard work to destroy the remnants of the glass door, then the balcony barrier, even without his arms. And it was no hard work to take a running leap, but crashing through the glass windows, he didn't anticipate as easy.

Vaguely, Spock felt glass digging into his back, and somewhere he saw the last of the sunlight slipping away like the blood still pooling in his hand. Somehow he was still aware of another body spread across his stomach, another blood spread across his stomach, but as far as he was concerned, everything was fading away. Like the sunlight. Like the blood. Blood-

- - -

A/N: One more chapter left. Expect it in only a few days to make up for the last horribleawfulbad delay :D


	4. Don't Be Afraid To Get Hurt

A/N: Here's the third stanza of the poem mentioned in this chapter:

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! Heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Thanks for reading!

-=-=-=-=-=-

There was an IV stuck in his wrist—that was the first thing he observed—and his entire body was unspeakably sore, and an unnamed panic stuck in his throat, choking him and seizing at him—he tried to sit up, but he felt fresh scar tissue on his back tighten. _Jim_, he thought suddenly, staring at the ceiling, a blank steel—

"Down, Spock. He's fine. Not a cut on him besides the bite."

Leonard McCoy was looking at the Vulcanoid with a look of vague amusement and concern, leaning on the doorway, his pose predatory. Spock stopped trying to sit up.

"What happened?" Spock demanded, conscious of his gaze tightening but not particularly conscious enough to do anything about it.

"Best I can tell-" McCoy pushed off the wall, leaning in to examine the monitor set up beside the sick-bay bed. "-you jumped into an abandoned building with Kirk in your arms. You took most of the force going through the window and landing on the floor..." The doctor raised an eyebrow, his countenance again shifting. "That or you flew there. We got the meds to him in time. Just rest."

The Vulcan nodded, forcing himself to relax as best he could.

"And in case you'd like to know," the doctor drawled, "you had several deep lacerations on your back and arms—nothing we couldn't fix, although there's some minor scarring on your back. A concussion, dehydration, some burns on your hands, no nerve damage or scarring. Don't move quickly, it's bad for your head." The unspoken threat of sedation hung in the air.

Spock studiously ignored the doctor. "May I see him?"

"Normally I'd say no, but you did save his life. Follow me—and remember—"

"Yes, doctor. No sudden movements. I understand."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When Jim awoke, he didn't expect to be in sickbay. Well, really, he hadn't expected to wake up, much less on his ship. He wasn't even hooked up to an IV and there were no bandages, no new scars, only a vague headache. This, however, although in itself a singular occurrence, was not that which startled him the most. What he _really_ hadn't expected to see was Spock asleep in the chair to his right.

"Hey Spock."

No movement.

"Spock. _Spock. _Hey, SPOCK!"

Then, movement. The captain settled back down contentedly.

"Captain?" the Vulcan said, sleep thick in his voice. Jim couldn't help but smile as the Vulcan rubbed at his eyes with his hands, much like a child...his hair was uncharacteristically messy and he was, oddly, only wearing the sick bay issued sterile pants—Kirk had to refrain from getting out of bed jjsut to hug him.

"Spock," he said warmly. But then he paused and looked away, his expression darkening. "I'm sorry."

"Although I did not approve of your decision, Jim, you did save both of our lives and for that I am grateful." The first officer stretched his arms out in front of him and rolled his neck from side to side, and the sound of bones cracking into place echoed dully through the chamber. "There is nothing for which you should apologize, although I am still intrigued as to why you thought it necessary to stun me."

There was a moment of silence as Spock settled, then leaned forward to examine his captain.

Kirk had since stiffened, tangling his hands in the sheets of the cot. "I couldn't kill you," he said.

Spock paused, then raised one eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"I couldn't. If you got infected I'd let you tear me apart before I could bring myself to shoot you. I know it's illogical, but...well, both of us would have ended up dead." A pause. "So...logically...I had to keep you from getting infected."

"By shooting me," said the Vulcan dryly. "Captain, there is a poem. It is by a Terran, and considerably old, but you may have heard of it. The title is _O_ _Captain My Captain_."

"...by Whitman. About Lincoln, I believe?"

"Yes, Captain-" Spock leaned back into his chair, resting his fingers together in front of himself. "-but since, has been used to commemorate the loss of a leader who died for his cause, more poignantly when upon the cusp of victory. I do not wish to have to associate the poem with you. If you place yourself into the path of danger once again- and so blatantly- I will be most angry."

Suddenly: "Anger is an emotion, Spock."

The Vulcan's expression hardened at that. He searched his captain's posture, his intonations, countenance, previous words, long previous postures, intonations, countenances, words—and it seemed less a jibe than a question. He noticed he was gripping the armrests most aggressively and forced himself to relax. The shallow impressions of his fingertips remained like pockmarked scars in the plastic. Then, tonelessly, he said, "So is friendship. Love. Captain."

Kirk's eyes were searching the ceiling.

"I must confess to some degree of emotion. If you might find such hinders—"

"Spock," Kirk said.

His first officer's eyes darkened.

"Come fucking closer. Move the chair or something. See I want to hold your hand, but I don't think I can sit up and you're too damn far away," the human grumbled.

Spock dragged the chair forward, still tense, but as he clasped the captain's right hand between his, he relaxed, and Kirk eventually drifted off to sleep, his expression obviously content, and Spock's eyes softened minute by minute, to something warmer—

Twenty minutes later, McCoy, who had wandered in to check on Jim, sighed. Nothing to bring a couple together like space zombies, he thought, but couldn't it happen somewhere other than _my_ sickbay?


End file.
